


Something of Significance

by evilmouse



Series: Something's There [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Challenges, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), In Vino Veritas, Licking, May the Thirst Be With You, Naboo Wine, Responsibility, Thirsty Pryce, Thirsty Thrawn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, disrobing, thryce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-08 19:10:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18629500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/pseuds/evilmouse
Summary: Governor Arihnda Pryce was usually comfortable at these political conferences.  She didn’t find the assemblage of power or glitterati a problem.  The movers and shakers of the Empire were not imposing or intimidating for her, especially now that she was one of them.  She liked the excess of the banquets and seminars, the tangible display of wealth.  But tonight, she was decidedlynotcomfortable.It probably had something to do with the presence of Grand Admiral Thrawn.





	Something of Significance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Thryce Discord May The Thirst Challenge. My randomly assigned drink was [Naboo Wine.](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Naboo_wine)
> 
> Props to [Frangipani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frangipani/pseuds/frangipani) for the title suggestion and all the Thryce peeps for their encouragement.

Governor Arihnda Pryce was usually comfortable at these political conferences. She didn’t find the assemblage of power or glitterati a problem. The movers and shakers of the Empire were not imposing or intimidating for her, especially now that she was one of them. She liked the excess of the banquets and seminars, the tangible display of wealth. But tonight, she was decidedly _not_ comfortable.

It probably had something to do with the presence of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Thrawn was a good colleague. More than a fellow high-ranking Imperial, he was _her_ ally. They had a mutually beneficial relationship—an understanding. But Thrawn exuded something decidedly _intangible._ His power was the opposite of the fleet he commanded—strategy over strength, intelligence over size. She hadn’t expected to find Thrawn here with the flashy Imperial elite. Rumor had it that Tarkin was grooming him for something. Although what the Grand Admiral could possibly attain beyond his current rank was in question.

Despite his attendance at the same events, she hadn’t had an opportunity to do more than offer a brief hello. For some reason this bothered Governor Pryce. And the fact that it bothered her bothered her even more. She hadn’t known he was coming, true, and she had no particular business with the Grand Admiral. They saw each other not infrequently—with him commanding the Seventh Fleet, overseeing her sector, her planet. 

The keynote dinner was predictably boring, the mixer afterwards even more so. Pryce looked for Thrawn in the mass of uniforms and suits. His blinding white attire usually caught her eye quite easily. But no, he had escaped the glad-handing and shoulder-slapping that always marked the end of these types of events.

She wasn’t sure why it annoyed her, but it did. She was spending too much time in search of one person, rather than focusing on her contacts and networking. Everything felt off tonight. Pryce couldn’t concentrate, didn’t feel like smiling at up-and-comers and congratulating colleagues for their various achievements. Unreasonable anger suffused her comportment, and the whole conference suddenly seemed like a colossal waste of time. 

Heading to the door, she walked by a dessert cart. A square plate of Trammistan chocolates lay untouched. They cost a small fortune. And it had been a long time since she had them. It was so tempting to indulge…

A white-sleeved arm entered her peripheral vision, reaching around her and swiping the plate from the cart.

Her heartbeat sped up, turning to look at the implacable features of Grand Admiral Thrawn. The angles of his blue face were so sharp, his alien skin so smooth. He had an unmarked green bottle in his left hand, balancing the chocolate platter on the other.

“Governor Pryce,” he offered by way of greeting. Thrawn’s voice seemed to rumble through the air, a sound she found always carried an odd sense of security. Tonight was no different.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn,” she returned, raising a questioning eyebrow at his loot.

“Would you like to join me?”

The question had come quickly, without hesitation. It didn’t seem suspicious, but it wasn’t exactly clear what he was asking her to join him for—the only thing that seemed certain was that it involved expensive chocolate and some sort of drink. But the way he had phrased the invitation—it seemed he could be proposing something different. Pryce met his unusual eyes, their red glowing warm, not fiery.

“Why not?” she answered, which seemed a good response. It was close enough to a ‘yes’ to accompany him, which she inexplicably yet definitely wanted to do, but it also provided adequate leeway for escape if the invitation turned out to be less than enticing.

Thrawn ducked out of the room with a swiftness and secrecy that spoke to experience with clandestine tradecraft. Pryce fought to keep up, feeling a little silly as she took an extra step to catch him as he turned the corridor.

“Where are we going?”

“My room,” he answered quietly, and she stopped mid-stride. Thrawn realized he’d lost his bumbling shadow a few steps later, gliding back to her side. 

“Governor?”

“Grand Admiral…” She wasn’t quite sure what to say. Pryce was trying to decide what exactly was the situation. Had she misunderstood? Had he? Was he actually propositioning her? Or simply so naïve that he hadn’t thought about the implications? Yet Thrawn was carrying some sort of drink and chocolate, and that seemed to have a clear purpose. Possibly romantic. But the assumption that she would just be so _easy_ —even if she _was_ tempted—

Understanding dawned, his eyebrows raised slightly. 

“Apologies, Governor. I did not consider the…” he paused, looking almost embarrassed, a strange expression on his face, “…optics. Would you care to make a recommendation? Is your room preferable, or just as—”

Pryce grit her teeth. Did he think she was an idiot? What in the world was going through his head? She crossed her arms, shooting him a glare of what she hoped was clear skepticism mixed with a healthy dose of puritan indignation.

“Just as indiscreet, Grand Admiral?” she snarled at him.

To her surprise, Thrawn smiled, apparently immune to her venom. “I see. Perhaps we should return to the banquet and enjoy our,” he lifted the green label-less bottle in his hand “wine tasting in public?”

Wine tasting? Is that what they were doing? Pryce resisted the urge to shake her head in disbelief, stifling a bizarre rush of disappointment. In that case, she didn’t care if it was his room or hers or the refresher. She wasn’t a fan of wine, but she wanted some of those chocolates—he’d snagged the last plate—and as long as he didn’t expect her to fall into bed with him like some cheap Outer Rim floozy…

“Your room will be fine, Grand Admiral, for the _wine tasting._ ” She put a clear emphasis on the words, standing up straighter. He looked at her carefully, checking her sincerity it seemed, then with a nod he was off again, speeding down the hall like a rabid lothwolf was at his heels.

A few moments later, they stopped in front of a nondescript arched door. Thrawn produced a code cylinder to open it. 

“After you, Governor—” Pryce didn’t hesitate. At any moment someone could come down the hallway and see her about to enter Thrawn’s suite. Thrawn followed quickly, and the door swished shut after him. She breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like she’d gotten away with something as she took in her surroundings.

Thrawn’s rooms were much nicer than hers—that was immediately apparent. Pryce tried not to be annoyed, but clearly Governors were further down the Imperial hierarchy than she had thought, if this was what he merited.

His quarters had the layout of an apartment. From the entryway, it opened into a foyer with a circular table at its center, a vase of fresh flowers adorning it. Pryce took a step into the wide living space. Floor to ceiling windows provided a breathtaking view of the Chandrillian mountains in the near distance. Twin moons cast a luminous spotlight over the snowcapped peaks. It was lovely. Pryce pulled her eyes from the sight, feeling suddenly self-conscious, unsure of herself. She could feel Thrawn’s eyes on her, but she was unwilling to meet them just yet. So she continued her visual appraisal of the suite, struggling to find something to look at besides the Grand Admiral and the romantic scenery. The bedroom presumably was the darkened area off to the left. Not helpful. She felt a flush creep up her collar.

Pryce drew her gaze back from the dark doorway to see Thrawn looking at her curiously.

He probably expected her to say something, but she honestly couldn’t think of a word. She was already questioning her own wisdom in accompanying him. Yes, she had been looking for him for some unstated and unacknowledged reason. Pryce wasn’t quite sure herself why she’d strangely missed his company, but this encounter was already beyond what she’d anticipated.

Thrawn moved deeper into the living area, setting the plate of chocolate on a low table in front of a rather uncomfortable looking settee. He produced a hanava fruit, which he set on a separate plate with a wicked looking knife. The room had a small wet bar, and Thrawn occupied himself in that space as she watched. A muffled ‘pop’ reminded her that this was a _wine tasting._

He returned with two empty goblets and the open bottle of wine, gesturing to the settee. Pryce sat reflexively, out of a sense of diplomacy more than anything else. She expected Thrawn to sit opposite, but he took the seat next to her. It made her breath catch. They were very close. She shifted her feet to the right, pulling her knees in to gain some distance. It seemed important to keep some space between them. His white-clad thigh was so near, the trousers of his uniform so tight. And she thought she could feel the heat of him. He—

“Now then, Governor Pryce. These—” his long blue fingers spread to indicate the chocolate and fruit on the low table, “—are palate cleansers.”

Of course. She could have figured that out herself, Pryce thought, annoyed. She wasn’t completely uncultured. 

“And the drink?” she asked, gesturing herself at the empty glasses before them. Thrawn smiled with closed lips, real amusement in the high curve of his mouth. His eyes didn’t change in any discernible way, but Pryce felt like the room temperature rose, and she shifted ever so subtly in her seat.

“An exceptional wine,” Thrawn told her, obviously pleased with himself. “The Imperial Navy recently confiscated the cargo of a late smuggler, a Rebel sympathizer. He donated several crates of alcoholic contraband for this event. Some are rather rare specimens, including this one.”

Pryce cleared her throat. This had been a mistake. She wasn’t a huge fan of wine, and was already expecting to be embarrassed, or at a minimum inadvertently rude to her host. Thrawn was certain to be an insufferable wine snob. It just fit so perfectly into his appreciation of art, and culture, and all things alien. Involuntarily, her eyes moved back up from the glasses over to Thrawn, who had placed a bizarre contraption over the rim.

“An aerator?” she guessed.

“Yes,” he seemed pleased with her knowledge. “And a filter for impurities.” 

He began to pour, but as the clear, bitter-smelling liquid went past the halfway point of her rather sizable glass, she spoke in protest.

“It’s late, Grand Admiral.”

He stopped pouring, the neck of the bottle hovering.

“And?”

Thrawn’s tone was unusually casual, almost teasing. Pryce didn’t know whether to be amused or on guard. What was he thinking?

“And I’m not sure about your particular tolerance, but I can assure you that if I drink too much…” She trailed off, but Thrawn seemed to want her to finish. He didn’t pour, just waited. Pryce did not continue, almost glaring at him. She didn’t really _want_ any wine, would have preferred a caf, but he’d gone to this trouble and now she had to accommodate. 

“Are you implying you may become inebriated, Governor Pryce?”

“I’m here for the conference, Grand Admiral. A rather important one. I’d like to be in full possession of my faculties for the closing ceremony tomorrow.” 

Thrawn seemed to consider, looking at the bottle, then her. He poured a splash more of the wine through the filter into her glass as if to punctuate the silence. He followed with the same amount for his own.

He returned the bottle to the table. 

“The idea, Governor, is to provide a sample of this exotic vintage. I believe it is not necessary to finish an entire glass to appreciate the flavor.” He smiled a little, picking up his wine. “Or decide the taste is not to your liking.” He swirled the liquid in a circle with a graceful twirl of his wrist. “It is not my intention to deprive you of your—” his lips tilted just a little, as if he had a private joke, “—faculties.”

Pryce felt foolish. Of course she knew at a proper vineyard tasting, you didn’t drink a full glass. Didn’t she? Something about how Thrawn was watching her made her question her own knowledge on the subject. And she wondered at his last comment. She hadn’t meant to imply he was trying to seduce her, after all. The possibility that he’d misinterpreted her words was humiliating. A blush touched her cheeks. 

She decided to surrender on the issue, eyeing the chocolate on the tray. There were less pleasant ways to spend an evening than eating gourmet snacks and drinking rare wine with the Grand Admiral. Pryce forced a smile, relieved that once it was on her lips she wasn’t forcing any longer.

“Of course, Grand Admiral. I meant no offense.”

“None taken.” He still held his glass, lifted it in her direction. “Shall we start on the Naboo wine, then?”

Naboo? Pryce thought all the fruits on Naboo were practically inedible, only used for medicinal purposes. Her surprise was badly concealed.

“This is a most difficult wine to procure, Governor. It is rather unpopular with most cultures, and therefore produced in extremely limited, and expensive, quantities.”

The scent coming from her glass was odd, and Pryce sniffed at the rim, cautiously. It smelled like something you’d use to strip grease from a speeder axle. Unpopular? More like undrinkable.

“How expensive?” She was curious, despite the odor.

“The cargo manifest indicated the expected sale per bottle was just over thirty thousand credits.”

Pryce’s eyes widened, looking with renewed appreciation at the wine in her glass. Thirty thousand credits a bottle? That meant the amount between her fingers was worth at least five thousand. Absolutely preposterous. Especially for something that stank like a cross between industrial-strength cleaner and freighter fuel.

Thrawn made a strange noise, and it took Pryce a moment to realize it was a laugh. A low roll of humor, resonating in the air and quickly gone. She liked the sound, smiling.

“I suppose I had better drink the whole glass then,” she joked, and Thrawn shrugged, an unlikely and unfamiliar movement of his square shoulders. 

“The wealthy pay for the exclusivity of the vintage, no doubt, rather than its flavor or rumored benefits.”

“Benefits?” 

“Naboo wine is touted for astringent and antiseptic purposes.” Thrawn _was_ a wine snob. It wasn’t surprising, but Pryce at least appreciated him not lecturing her on the typical sommelier things, like aroma and bouquet and the rest of that drivel that just annoyed and bored her. “It is however, rather famous on my planet. The Chiss have a particular affinity for it.”

That was interesting. A wine that was unpopular for most species but somehow Thrawn’s people were fans. “But how does it taste?”

“This will be my first experience as well, Governor,” Thrawn admitted. “Shall we?”

His first taste of a wine famous with his species. Suddenly Thrawn’s earlier excitement made sense. No wonder he’d been in a hurry to escape the banquet. It wasn’t exactly stealing, she supposed, for a Grand Admiral to abscond with confiscated cargo intended for a party. Still it would have been bad for appearances if he’d been spotted. Thrawn had taken a sizeable risk to sample this pricey drink, Pryce thought, trying not to be flattered that he’d invited her to partake with him. 

Pryce spontaneously clinked her glass to his, a little harder than she’d intended. She went to take a sip but Thrawn’s hand hadn’t moved the wine any closer to his lips. She stopped, sensing she’d made some sort of faux pas. 

“What?”

“You toasted.”

“Yes…” Where was he going with this? It had just been an impulse.

“I was under the impression that if we toast, we are drinking to something?” His bright eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if perhaps he had been lied to in the past about this subject. “Is that not the case?”

Pryce was flustered. “Don’t you toast on your planet? Or have some sort of ceremonial drinking tradition?”

Thrawn nodded, setting down his glass, folding his hands in front of him as if he had some critical news to impart.

“There are rituals involving alcohol, but not quite in the same fashion.” Pryce waited for him to continue, thinking more information was imminent, but he simply picked up the glass again. “To what are we toasting, Governor?”

“Does it matter?” She looked at him, incredulous. “I just clinked out of habit.”

Thrawn’s voice was serious when he answered. “I was under the impression that the whole point of a toast was drinking to something of significance.”

He put down his glass again. With a poorly suppressed sigh, Pryce did the same. She eyed the chocolate greedily. At this rate they weren’t going to need a palate cleanser. She hadn’t even taken a sip yet.

She’d forgotten how observant he was.

“Please, Governor, help yourself.”

A flush touched her cheeks. She just hadn’t had chocolate in so long—it was hard to get in anything but powdered form. The Empire had razed and destroyed some of the best chocolate-producing worlds. And these little circles looked dark—delicious.

“No, thank you.”

She turned the base of her wineglass on the table between her index and middle fingers, trying to remember what they had been talking about. She was supposed to come up with a toast? Propose some sort of reason to drink? Why did Thrawn always get her off balance like this? She looked up from the table to find him staring at her.

“Could you explain, Governor, why you refuse to eat the chocolate?”

Stars, he was infuriating sometimes. “I’m not refusing. I’m being polite.” Didn’t he know it would be rude to eat before he did? Or how crass it would be to show how much she wanted one?

He made that little huffing laugh sound again, and this time Pryce allowed herself a small chuckle as well. It was silly, she supposed. 

“Allow me, as your host, then, to insist you forget your manners in this regard.”

How did his Basic get so elegant, Pryce wondered. He sounded at ease, indulgent. It was a dangerous sound, she thought, but she liked it anyway. 

“I don’t want one, thank you.” She knew Thrawn wouldn’t believe the lie, wasn’t even sure why she was still refusing. They both had laughed, and it seemed a good idea to prolong the game, whatever it was.

Thrawn reached to the platter and selected a piece of the chocolate, holding it out to her. She didn’t accept it. His eyes seemed to crinkle in amusement, thin lines appearing at the edges. Thrawn turned the small disc over in his fingers, considering, then abruptly bit it in two in an almost savage flash of white teeth.

“It is quite excellent, Governor.” His tongue parted his dark lips, a brief lick before retreating back inside his mouth. “No doubt the bittersweet taste will serve as a good balance for our wine.” He held the rest of the chocolate between his fingers, offered to her once more. She stared at it, looking at the uneven bite marks scarring it. Before she could think, she had taken it from his hand.

His skin was warm. Somehow she’d expected a chill, perhaps from the color. Their fingertips brushed during the transfer, and Pryce put the chocolate between her lips. There was something intimate about eating half of something that had been split by his teeth a moment ago. The room felt even hotter.

She almost had to stifle a moan; it was exquisite. The chocolate was dense, rich, the edge of too bitter. Pryce thought there must be caf in it, because her heart had already started to beat double time. The pleasure must have shown on her face, as Thrawn seemed to relax, leaning back against the side of the settee and observing her reaction with interest.

Abruptly self-conscious, Pryce reached for the wineglass. Thrawn mirrored her movement, looking at her expectantly. Oh yes. The toast. Something of significance, he’d said.

She opened her mouth, closed it again. It shouldn’t be hard to come up with a toast. But the way he was looking at her—it had too much meaning. Pryce searched her brain. Thrawn was patient. 

Standard toasts. The glory of the Empire, the Emperor’s health, our brave Imperial forces—the typical ones seemed wrong somehow. To the chocolate, Pryce thought, the idea making her laugh too spontaneous to suppress. That was something worthy of a toast. So good.

Thrawn smiled at her mirth, a tilt of his head asking the question his lips did not.

She stopped laughing, straightening her back, feeling a little silly. But this whole situation was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Killing time with a five thousand-credit glass of wine and chocolate that probably cost a fortune all on its own. 

“I was thinking perhaps the chocolate deserved a toast.” She could still taste its richness on her tongue.

“Perhaps it does,” Thrawn acknowledged. “But may I suggest a less specific salute, inspired by your appreciation?”

“Of course, Grand Admiral.” Thank the stars, he was going to make the toast. After all this back and forth, Pryce thought she definitely needed a drink.

He shifted to face her on the settee and raised his glass, leaning slightly towards her, hardly necessary given the small space between them. She did the same.

“To pleasure, Governor, in all its forms.”

Pryce’s eyes rounded at the toast, almost choking on the air in her lungs. The Grand Admiral seemed the last person in the world she would have expected to toast to such a thing. And there was something erotic about his addition—‘in all its forms.’ Her brain had already sent her thoughts to inappropriate places, careening from all the sensory organs and their optimum stimuli.

“To pleasure, Grand Admiral,” she managed, and they clinked glasses. 

He held her eyes and sipped. She did the same.

It was horrible, this Naboo wine. Only years of off-world banquets with trays of foreign cuisine kept her from spitting it out back into the glass.

Thrawn laughed, a real rolling laugh, not the barely there chuckle of earlier. Her first instinct was to be offended, that he was laughing at her reaction, but he didn’t seem to be that petty, and the sound was extremely agreeable. Something she felt in her stomach, a light echo twirling inside her. Pryce looked critically at the glass and grinned.

“It’s awful,” she admitted.

“Yes,” Thrawn agreed. “I like it.”

Confused at his contradiction, she took a second sip. Still disgusting. 

“You _like_ it?”

Thrawn nodded, taking a larger draught from his own glass. 

“I do. I like the clear sense of transit through the body, this impression of having my throat, stomach, digestive tract completely stripped.” He took another dose. “It feels detoxifying, rather than intoxicating.”

Pryce remembered his earlier description of Naboo wine. “Astringent,” she offered. But based upon his explanation, she decided to try a third taste. The drink burned so badly there was no discernable flavor, something that once may have been vaguely citrus distilled into this offensive fluid. She did understand Thrawn’s reaction though, her mind following the liquid as it slipped to her guts, disappearing and dissolving into her bloodstream. He appeared to be awaiting her confirmation of his assessment.

“I agree. I feel completely stripped.” The words escaped faster than thought. She’d been repeating his phrase, but it came out wrong. Pryce blinked, but Thrawn only raised an eyebrow, giving her a pass for the awkward sentence.

Embarrassed, she reached for another piece of chocolate, letting it melt on her tongue. It did taste amazing after the bitterness of the Naboo wine. Thrawn picked up the knife and deftly peeled and sectioned the hanava fruit, his fingertips coated with its nectar. He plucked a piece and took a bite. Some of its juice dripped on his fingertips and on his lips. Pryce realized she was staring, seized with an ill-advised urge to suck it off. The chocolate was still warm and gooey on her tongue and she swallowed the messy lump of it, trying to focus. Just how strong was this wine, anyway?

“The alcohol content was not specified on the manifest. I suppose it varies vintner to vintner.”

She’d asked that question aloud? Pryce bit her lip. How had three sips of wine gone to her head so quickly? Pushing the glass away, she reached for another piece of chocolate. Thrawn already had his hand on the platter; she hadn’t noticed. His fingers were as sticky as they had looked. Pryce jerked her hand back, mortified. He offered her the chocolate he’d already selected, held delicately between thumb and forefinger. 

She shook her head, not trusting her voice, and reached for the wine glass again. Unfortunately, it was the only thing she had to occupy her, apart from him, the room, the chocolate. A bad choice, probably, but Pryce took a long swig of the acrid beverage, determined not to make it seem accidental.

“Come, Governor, why pretend you don’t want it?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“I’m not pretending,” she pouted, lying through her teeth. The world had started to blur a little bit.

“Did we not drink to pleasure?” He asked the question like a schoolteacher instructing a recalcitrant student. Pryce nodded once, briefly. She’d never taken Thrawn for a hedonist. He held the chocolate poised over her mouth, which she’d thinned and compressed in defiance of her own gluttony. “Why deny yourself?”

The words were heavy, loaded. Pryce felt their weight like an enchantment, and parted her lips obediently. Before she could register the action, Thrawn had placed the chocolate inside her mouth. His fingers barely touched her, but they did touch her—a delicate brush of skin against her lips. An inadvertent caress. Her breath hitched, uneven and unable to be regulated despite her best efforts. The chocolate lay hot on her tongue, her mind struggling to reconcile reality with her clouded perception. Did he really just feed her? Had she imagined that? 

Absently, she drank more of the wine. Cleansing. She felt it slip down her throat, a fiery path to her belly. And now her glass was empty.

Thrawn refilled both, the picture of the gracious host. Pryce hadn’t seen him finish his, now that she thought about it. His hand looked a little shaky, actually, as he moved from one rim to the other. Was he also feeling the effects?

“Governor Pryce…” Thrawn started, looking at the bottle in his hand as if he’d forgotten he was holding it, and then set it down. Too close to the edge of the table. Pryce surreptitiously slid it more towards the center with her shoe.

“Yes, Grand Admiral?” The chocolate was almost entirely melted now. So delicious. Maybe she should try the fruit next…

“I think…” he paused, checking that she was listening, and plowed ahead. “I think I have determined the reason for the popularity of Naboo wine on Csilla.”

He sounded strange, Pryce thought, his words accented more than usual, the tone less pure. She tilted her head in question, inviting him to continue. Had Thrawn always been sitting so near? Should she move away? Had he just mentioned his home planet? The realization, the word’s resolution in her memory was delayed, emphasizing exactly how slow her brain had become.

“Yes…” Thrawn then proceeded to unleash a string of words in his native language, leaving Pryce completely at a loss. He looked earnest, sincere, but she knew not a single syllable. Thrawn finished his discourse with a satisfied sound, holding his glass loosely. Pryce thought he might spill it if he wasn’t careful. She reached for another chocolate. 

“Pryce—” He’d dropped her title. She noticed immediately, responding with a steely look, although he didn’t appear aware of the informality. Thrawn’s eyes, however, looked dimmer, the yellow rims near the center more prominent than usual. “What do you say to that?”

She looked wide-eyed at him, exasperated. Thrawn was definitely getting tipsy. “You just spoke in another language, Grand Admiral. I didn’t understand a thing.”

“I see.” He pressed his lips together fiercely, as if deep in thought. The action turned their pink shade a deeper hue. Had he really not realized he wasn’t speaking Basic? Thrawn’s eyes seemed to focus on the chocolate in her fingers then, and he reached over and stole it from her hand. He popped it into his mouth without a word of apology. Pryce was simultaneously annoyed and amused—there was something undeniably… alluring about the unguarded expression on his face.

“Why, Grand Admiral?” 

His eyes met hers, a grin slowly spreading across his lips. The look was bizarre and feral and unsettling. And also weirdly attractive, Pryce had to admit. Like he was going to ravish her or eat her, or both. Grand Admiral Thrawn was a good-looking man. Pryce mentally congratulated herself for noticing, agreeing with her own assessment, and then remembered she had been asking him a question.

“Do tell me the reason Naboo wine is popular on Csilla.” She hoped she was pronouncing his planet’s name correctly. Speech no longer came easy; her tongue felt thick and unwieldy.

“Ah, yes.” Thrawn nodded, and then drained his glass in one quick flick of the wrist. He swallowed and exhaled deeply. Pryce could sense the effort it was taking him to enunciate, each word punctuated with an emphasis on the final syllable. “I have determined Naboo wine is extremely effective at not only rapidly intoxicating someone of Chiss biology, but also seems to be a rather potent philtre.”

He cocked his head, studying her face. It showed off his jawline to rather swoon-inducing effect. “I do not suppose you have noticed anything similar?”

Pryce was confused again, as well as increasingly distracted by Thrawn’s… charisma. She replayed the words in her mind. Thrawn was saying basically that this wine got him easily drunk. She had always been a bit of a lightweight, her build slight and frame petite. But there was something unusually strong about this wine. As for the second part—she didn’t even know what a philtre was. And she didn’t want to ask. It was probably something in his native language, and if it wasn’t—if it was Basic, it would be embarrassing to confess her ignorance.

“I believe it _is_ very strong. I feel like I’ve had several glasses rather than,” she looked, surprised to see her second glass was almost empty, “two.”

Thrawn nodded with such force that it was comical. He reached for the bottle again. Pryce put her hand over the top of her glass. She’d had enough. She didn’t even _like_ the stuff, it was beyond her how she’d already drank two glasses while hardly noticing. He tried to take her glass anyway, and again she noticed the stickiness of his skin, yanking her hand away.

Thrawn looked puzzled, then…hurt? 

“Do you find my touch disagreeable, Governor?”

It was all she could do to not roll her eyes. Men could be so sensitive.

“Grand Admiral, you are drunk.” The instant she said it, she knew it was true. Thrawn was clearly not operating at his peak efficiency. “And I find your touch no more disagreeable than I would anyone who has sticky fingers.”

That seemed to shut him up, and Thrawn looked at his hand with interest, before placing one index finger between his lips and slowly sliding it out. The action was disturbing. Disturbing and sexy. Pryce adjusted her position on the cushion, thinking it was probably time for her to leave, but then he did the same thing with his thumb, middle finger. By the time he got to the last one, she wished he had more fingers so as to watch this repeated ad infinitum. There was a lake of heat pooling in her belly. Her thighs clenched. 

Thrawn’s mouth was so nice and strong-looking. It was the wine, she was sure, making her so entranced by its outline. And now why was she suddenly hoping for a glimpse of his tongue? And thinking about how chocolate and hanava would taste mixed together on his lips? But as fuzzy as she felt, it was clear that Thrawn was even more so as he spoke again.

“I believe you are correct.” 

She had no idea what he was talking about. Being disagreeable? Being drunk? Sticky fingers? He clarified, his Basic more heavily accented than ever, pouring himself another glass of the clear wine. “I am most definitely intoxicated. Unexpectedly so.”

Long blue fingers reached for more fruit, and Pryce had a premonition of its dripping juices staining those tight, pristine white pants.

“You...” she said, feeling like she was speaking underwater. “You’re going to ruin your uniform with that.” She lazily indicated the fruit in his hand. It took a few tries to point exactly where she wanted; first her index finger’s trajectory led to his pants.

“True,” the Grand Admiral said, standing up with the hanava slice still glistening between his fingers. “Shall I disrobe?”

“Absolutely not,” Pryce commanded, trying to keep the panic from her voice. She stood as well, holding out her hand palm up. “Give me the fruit.”

Dutifully, he placed it in her hand, looking at her as if awaiting her next order. So tempting, all of a sudden, to eat it. Pryce resisted, set it carefully back on the plate, finding nowhere to wipe her now-sticky hand.

“You have compounded the problem,” Thrawn said, matter-of-factly. 

She groaned softly, looking at the tacky residue on her skin. He was right, of course. But surely there were napkins somewhere—

All thought was cut off as Thrawn seized her wrist like an enemy’s weapon and promptly licked the nectar from her palm. The sight and touch of his tongue on her skin made her entire body stiffen as if struck by lightning. Pryce froze, everything stopping, her heart, her brain, time. Thrawn seemed to freeze as well; too drunk, apparently, to be overtly embarrassed, but not too drunk to realize he’d crossed a line.

“Governor,” he said, voice just above a whisper. Pryce thought if he didn’t let go of her wrist, she would melt into the carpet. And if he did, she also thought she would melt into the carpet. She bit her lip to try to bring some clarity through pain.

“Grand Admiral,” she replied, looking as stern as she could, which was difficult through the haze of alcohol and the suddenly dim lighting in the room. Were the lights that low when she’d arrived? Surely she would have noticed?

He didn’t let go. She wondered what would happen if he kept holding her. What would come next? His hand around her waist? At her neck? Pryce blinked back the various enticing possibilities, wondering if this was all some fever dream sourced from a rotten Luilris mushroom in her lunchtime tarte.

“You’re drunk,” she whispered.

“And?” Thrawn returned, taking a step closer to her. His voice bled seductive menace into the air. Before, when he’d first touched her, her heart had stopped. Now it felt like it was in a race to find the quickest path out of her chest. She tugged her wrist out of his grip but Thrawn didn’t seem to notice, standing impossibly near, his body a fraction of an inch from hers. Her eyes were riveted to the fibers of his tunic, the gloss of his rank insignia, the seam to its right that kept the body underneath hidden from view.

Pryce wasn’t sure there was anything to say. She was excruciatingly aware that they both were not thinking straight. And even that awareness was called into question by the fog in her mind, the limited perception that was dominated by the proximity of the handsome man—alien—whose room she’d foolishly, naïvely, agreed to visit.

“And…” she began, not planning the end of the sentence. And what? And why not surrender to the moment? Why not press her lips to his, shining with hanava nectar and probably tasting of bitter Naboo citrus and rich dark chocolate? Why not lose control, abandon pretense? Why torture herself by continue to deny that she’d probably wanted to be in his arms, in his bed, since the first day she’d met him?

And then she had the answer. 

Because he was drunk. 

Whatever happened, whatever they let happen here, alcohol provided plausible deniability. It was the perfect set-up. Give in to carnal impulse, blame it on the Naboo Wine. And Pryce didn’t want that, she suddenly realized. She valued herself more, and if Thrawn wanted her now, as he seemed to, then he would still want her later. She hoped. And if he didn’t, then it didn’t matter anyway, did it?

Thrawn was looking at her intently, something about his expression softer, like he’d followed her silent train of thought. He took a step backwards, giving her space.

“My apologies, Governor Pryce. I am, as you say, drink. Drunk.”

He reached down, and took his glass, draining its contents again in one long gulp. Pryce was confused. His tone was regretful, but he was still drinking? She decided not to question it, but to be thankful she hadn’t acted on impulse. 

It would have been a mistake.

Thrawn seemed to lose his balance slightly as he bent down to replace his empty glass on the table. Pryce felt more sober with each moment, as if her own level of intoxication was inversely proportional to the Grand Admiral’s. She stretched out her hand to steady him, and he regained equilibrium with his hand on her shoulder.

“It is a good thing, Governor, that you are the only witness to this experiment,” he said, seriously. Somehow he was charming despite being unbalanced.

“I agree completely,” she responded, realizing how true that was. Imagine if it became known how Thrawn reacted to this drink? He could be incapacitated by an enemy or seduced and blackmailed in minutes. Ridiculous. 

“I think you should avoid Naboo wine in the future,” Pryce added, feeling a welcome hint of amusement. Perhaps he was starting to think logically once more.

Thrawn nodded, his eyes widening and a sudden lurch towards her too familiar. It was that expression she remembered from the misspent days of her schooling, drinking cheap liquor that invariably led to easy drunkenness and, hot on its heels, nausea and vomiting. If the Grand Admiral threw up on her, she would kill him, Pryce thought without humor. If she hadn’t already been headed towards sobriety, the realization of this danger yanked her hard in that direction.

“Grand Admiral, where is your refresher?”

He looked confused, then took an unsteady step towards the dark room she’d thought was the bedroom. With a sigh, Pryce took Thrawn’s arm and looped it around her shoulder. She couldn’t let him topple over. He smiled down at her stupidly, but she began walking with a purpose. The Grand Admiral was heavy, his weight solid and warm against her side. And he smelled good, not like wine or chocolate, like something foreign, spicy and wintery. Pryce shook off the inane thought, sliding her other arm around his waist. Once Thrawn recognized she had a destination, he relaxed and matched her steps as they moved in the same direction.

“Governor—should I call you Arihnda?” he asked suddenly as they crossed the unlit threshold. She reached with her free hand to find the illumination control for the bedroom. Of course she had assumed he knew her first name, but he’d never used it and his pronunciation made her feel weak and undone. 

“I don’t see why that is relevant, Grand Admiral,” she said through clenched teeth, trying to ignore how nice her name sounded on his lips. 

“You’re taking me to bed. Is that not the time for informal address?” He winked at her, a more comical than lecherous action somehow, “and undress?”

“I am not _taking_ you to bed, Grand Admiral,” she managed, surprised at how calm she sounded, given his inference. “I am _putting_ you to bed. There is a marked difference.”

“I look forward to learning this difference, Arihnda,” he said, sounding happy. “And you can call me Thrawn, if you like.”

Pryce did roll her eyes then, finally settling on the switch and lighting the rather decadent-looking bedchamber. The bed looked like it cost more credits than she made in a year, an ornate headboard and expensive-looking art hanging on the wall. The ceiling was mirrored, a gaudy addition to the room’s otherwise classic décor. Pryce tried not to contemplate the erotic potential of such vainglorious ornamentation. 

She failed.

It had been her intention to get Thrawn all the way to the refresher, but she saw now it would be not only futile, but inadvisable. He was already sliding his hand a little too low down her shoulders, his fingertips grazing the side of her breast and causing little shockwaves to travel to her toes. Pryce had to deposit him quickly before she had time to reconsider her course of action.

“Thrawn,” she tried to sound amenable, diplomatic. She enjoyed dropping his title despite herself. “Would you please lie down?”

The expression on his face was quite content as he left her side. Thrawn took two steps to the edge of the bed and then flopped gracelessly on the side closest to her. He lay there staring at his reflection on the ceiling for a moment, and then seemed to remember he wasn’t alone, propping himself sluggishly up on his elbows. 

“Are you?” he asked plainly. Pryce’s breath caught at the invitation, reminding herself of her decision. He was drunk. He wasn’t thinking straight. She had to be the responsible one. She was already dreading facing him tomorrow and she hadn’t even done anything to be ashamed of—seeing him in this state was mortifying enough. Imagine if she actually took advantage of the situation.

“Why don’t you get comfortable?” She smiled at him, hoping it was charming enough to be convincing.

“Why don’t you help?” Thrawn answered, clearly flirting and doing a good job despite the fact that he was a sloppy, sentimental drunk. The proof was in the flutters in her chest and stomach and the flood of sheer want that suddenly rushed under her skin.

Pryce looked at his tunic. It was horribly creased as he lay on the bed. She desperately wanted to take it off, to help, as he suggested. Dangerous to admit it, even more dangerous to act upon the urge. He looked delicious. More delicious than the Trammistan chocolate he’d fed her. The memory made her shudder, a hot tremor that she felt in her bones.

“Arihnda?”

Her name waltzing from his lips was almost enough to break her resolve. Pryce closed her eyes a moment, trying to find strength through the cloud of lust and alcohol that weakened her. Why not just climb on top of him and rip off that crisp white material, seeing if the muscles underneath were as hard and solid as the hand that had held her wrist minutes ago? He was obviously expecting it, or something similar enough that they both wouldn’t be disappointed. Pryce’s mind tortured her with the possibilities—positions—sounds he would make. How he would feel, that strange warm skin that felt comforting and safe instead of alien under her touch.

She wrenched her mind from the thoughts with the same force she wrenched her eyes from his torso. Boots. There she could help. Boots were innocuous. Maybe his socks would smell bad enough to kill the aching in her veins that threatened her clarity. Pryce walked to his feet. She ignored the red eyes that followed her movements, yanking off Thrawn’s boots unceremoniously. They were painfully polished and her fingers left smudges on the shiny black, but that wasn’t her problem. Pryce set them to the side of the door and turned back around. Thrawn’s eyes were closed now. Maybe he’d fallen asleep?

She returned to the side of the bed to look at him, taking care to keep a safe distance. She hoped he had another uniform tunic in his luggage, because it seemed certain that the starch in this one wasn’t going to withstand a night of being worn as pajamas. She sighed softly and turned to leave. It was a good thing she no longer felt quite as drunk as earlier. Thrawn definitely was feeling the wine more than her. Of course he’d also consumed twice as much, but it did seem certain his biology had something to do with it.

Rough fingers grabbed her, halting her retreat. Pryce stopped, taking a deep breath. She had to steel herself to face him, trying to forget that she was in his _bedroom_ and he was in a _bed_ and had just taken her hand like he was entitled to it. He was threading their fingers together, and it felt so good, so nice, and it had been so long since she’d felt such comfort in contact.

His blazing eyes were open once more, a secretive little smile on his face. She tried to return it, feeling exposed and disarmed.

“You were helping?” He indicated his feet, wiggling his toes in a movement that was so completely bizarre that Pryce knew she would never forget the image for the rest of her life.

“You need to sleep, Grand Admiral.”

He made a little moue of dissatisfaction with his lips, and started to unfasten the flap of his wrinkled tunic one-handed. She watched, unable to retreat with his hand still firmly holding hers. Thrawn pulled her closer, tugging her palm over him and placing it on his chest as if expecting her assistance in this area as well. He was doing quite well on his own, she thought, and as soon as he let go, she removed her fingers from his sternum. The Grand Admiral struggled upright for a moment, just long enough to completely shrug off the garment, and tossed it to the side. Feeling dazed, Pryce picked it up, draping it over the back of the lone chair near the doorway.

“I assure you, Governor,” Thrawn said, only slightly slurring his words as his hands moved to his belt, “I am quite capable of performing.” She was back to Governor now, somehow. The shift was strangely disappointing. She had liked how he said her first name, however inappropriate it had been. The belt came off and Pryce began backing away from him, almost to the door. Her brain was screaming at her to ignore whatever was coming out of his mouth. And the view. The muscles—the definition in his chest, and those collarbones, everything about the expanse of blue skin begging for her attention. She had to stop this, could not let herself dwell on Thrawn’s physique, the undershirt he was in the process of discarding. 

“I am sure you are,” she reassured him, stepping away. “I’ll be right back. Why don’t you…” she indicated the covers, “relax.”

Pryce fled to the wet bar, feeling like she’d escaped a minefield. And she supposed she had. She needed to get out of here, back to her room. She had no idea what time it was. And hadn’t she already decided this was inadvisable? And the state Thrawn was in, it was unlikely he even was aware of what he was doing or saying. He was going to have a killer hangover tomorrow, if Chiss biology had anything in common with humans. She poured herself a glass of water and chugged it down, feeling a bit more stable. She filled one for him, staring at it. Bad idea, she told herself. You escaped. Stay gone. Leave now.

“Arihnda!”

Thrawn’s voice struck her ears with the force of an electric current and the heat of a desert wind. He was calling her… 

Fine. She’d deliver a glass of water—a courtesy to an incapacitated ally—and go back to her own room. Cold shower. Sleep. 

Very cold shower.

And if he was naked or close to it, she wouldn’t even give him the water, just shut the door and be gone. That was her plan.

Thrawn yelled her name again, this time less melodious, something commanding in it. He was going to alert the whole resort. She rushed in, forgetting her plan to peek first, his silence her only goal. 

Thankfully he had listened to her suggestion and slipped between the expensive-looking sheets. His white pants and…that was underwear, yes, lying on the floor. 

“Shut up, Thrawn! You’ll wake up the whole floor!” Pryce railed at him, studiously ignoring the underwear (black, her traitorous brain recorded the detail for her) and bent for the pants, draping them next to his tunic. She handed him the water. “Drink.”

He did, obediently, glowing eyes fixed upon her over the rim. He swallowed the entire quantity, then set the empty glass on the low bedside table.

“You called me Thrawn,” he said, sounding smug.

Pryce almost laughed, but was too distracted by the sculpted upper half of his body to do much more than choke out a strangled sound. He looked—

“Yes, I did.” Anger surged in self-defense, crowding out any humor that could have lightened the moment. How could she have been so foolish in coming here? How could he have been so careless? Why had he invited her in the first place, putting them both in this position? 

“But I shouldn’t have and I apologize, Grand Admiral. Now please go to sleep. You are not yourself.”

Thrawn shook his head repeatedly, as if the force of negation he wished to communicate would be strengthened by the multiplication of movement. “I am very much myself, Arihnda. Do you remember our toast?”

She nodded wordlessly, asking herself again why she was still standing here. 

“Then why deny yourself?” He seemed to be looking through her. Pryce felt exposed, realizing the embers of his eyes could probably discern things she’d rather stayed private—the heat between her legs, the flush of her skin beneath her clothing, the acceleration of her pulse, the shallow breaths she was laboring to steady.

It was a good question. An important question. Pryce lowered her eyes from his stare, thinking it would help her formulate an answer. A mistake. The outlined evidence of Thrawn’s promised performance capability was clearly visible beneath the silky sheet. Tempting. Clinging to his lower half. She ripped her eyes back to his drunkenly handsome face, the answer finally clear in her mind.

“Not like this,” she said softly.

The red of his eyes seemed to pulse, their glow shifting from vibrant to subdued several times. Pryce wondered what it signified, if it was a result of the alcohol or something his vision was doing. She stayed still, lips compressed, jaw set. 

“No, of course not,” Thrawn finally said, sounding more lucid than since he’d opened the wine. “Of course not.” The words sounded resigned, almost regretful when he repeated them, and Thrawn slid slowly all the way under the covers, closing his eyes. “Would you be so kind as to turn off the lights when you leave, Gov—Arihnda?”

She nodded, although he couldn’t see it. She felt a weight off her chest, the tightness surrounding her heart loosening. 

She did want him, she knew that. Perhaps he knew it too. But this was the right decision. The responsible one. The one that would preserve the status quo and allow them both to continue a productive, professional, platonic alliance.

“Good night, Thrawn,” she said quietly, shutting the illumination panel. “I’m quite certain neither of us will remember anything about this tomorrow.”

It was as close to a pass as she could offer. If Thrawn was wise, and Pryce knew he was, he would take the hint. She moved into the living space, collecting her purse and snagging a final chocolate between her lips before she shut out the rest of the lights and moved to the exit. A quick check in the corridor to make sure it was clear, and she hurried back to her hotel room.


End file.
